"Excuse me, but that's my parking place you know."
"Oh, sorry," mumbled Alan, turning red. "I'll park somewhere else then."
" I would be most grateful. I have parked in this spot for the last sixteen years you know. I'm Mrs Keithwaite, the Headmaster's secretary".
"I'm Alan....er.....Mr Kowper. Pleased to meet you."
Alan held out his hand, but Mrs Keithwaite had wound her window up and was impatiently tapping her hand on the steering wheel of her BMW.
As Alan tried to start his Lada, he asked himself why he hadn't taken Christine's advice and trained to be an accountant. Christine never understood when he talked about wanting to do some good with his life. He had been married to Christine for over a year now and although they loved each other very much, they had very different philosophies.
"Why do a badly paid job like teaching, Alan? You could earn twice as much as an accountant with your first class degree in Mathematics. Take what you can, I always say. Who's ever done you any favours?"
"Yes, but that's why I want to teach, Christine. I want to help young people and maths is such an easy subject. If it's explained properly, anyone can do it."
Christine had looked doubtful, but Alan had known that he was right. Still, it didn't make his first day any easier.
"Excuse me," he said to a bright eyed child who was smartly turned out in full school uniform. "Can you tell me where the staff room is please?"
"Oh yes, sir. No problem, sir. Straight down this corridor, sir. Up two flights of stairs, sir and it's the second door on the right. It's got 'Private' on the door, sir."
"Thank you very much. What's your name, young man?"
"Paul Orkey, sir."
"Thank you, Paul Orkey."
As Alan set off down a seemingly endless corridor, he felt fulfilled. That was the type of child he wanted to help to understand the finer points of trigonometry. He knew he was going to be successful. He thought of all the teachers he had had at school when he was young. Shouting and losing their tempers. Tired and irritable. He would never...
"What the hell do you want?"
"Oh, sorry" mumbled Alan, turning red again. "Is this the staffroom?"
"No it flaming well isn't! This is my office. Bert Maynard. Caretaker."
"Mr. Kowper. Pleased to..."
The door slammed in his face. Alan was sure he had followed Paul Orkey's instructions carefully. Paul Orkey. Funny name. P. Orkey. Oh dear! Porky. Porky pies. Lies. He had been well and truly suckered this time.
"Good morning. My name is Mr. Kowper and..."
"Kowper!"
"Cowpat!"
"Mooooooo!"
"Mooooooooooooooo!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha"
Alan went red.
"Yes. My name is Mr. Kowper and I know that we are going to get on very well this year because...do you mind not making that noise. What is your name?"
Too late, Alan recognised the face and knew what the answer would be."
"Orkey, sir. Paul Orkey!"
"Porky! Porky!"
A chorus of grunts echoed around the class.
"Yes, very funny. I said that I know that you can do very well this year if...what are you doing? Sit down! Sit down!"
The bright eyed boy was crawling around the room on all fours making piggy noises, backed up by a chorus of farmyard sounds.
"Be quiet please. Be quiet please. I don’t think..."
"BE QUIET!"
Suddenly there was silence. Everyone looked towards the door as a large red faced man, wearing a shabby grey jacket, glared thunderously around the room. When he saw Alan, he looked surprised.
"Sorry," he boomed. "I didn’t realise there was a teacher in here."
"O.K." said Alan. "I am here. I’m Mr. Kowper."
This time there was a deafening absence of cow noises. The silence was deafening.
"My name is Mr. Brand. Deputy Head in charge of discipline. If any of these swine give you any problems at all, Mr. Kowper, just send them to me. Especially Larry James there. GET UP OFF THE FLOOR JAMES!"
The former Paul Orkey, his name changed by the sheer overwhelming presence of the Deputy Head, meekly sat down and got his pencil case out.
"The thing is, Brand’s methods worked. I didn’t have any trouble from them for the rest of the lesson."
Alan had just finished his beanburger and salad. Christine was spoiling him tonight and was taking the baked apples from the oven.
"It’s just something you’re going to have to learn, dear," she told him as she put the bowls on the table. "He’s an experienced teacher. He knows what he’s doing."
"Sweetheart, I don’t want to be that sort of teacher. I remember old Soapy Symes when I was at school. We were all scared of him. What was that phrase of his? ‘Take notes and take note.’ What did that mean anyway? We were well behaved all right, but I will always hate anything to do with History. No! the way to get children to love your subject is to treat them with respect."
"Yes, but do they treat you with respect, Alan?"
"As adults, we have to show them an example. It will just take a bit of time, that’s all."
"If you say so. You always know best."
Christine could be very sarcastic at times.
The next few weeks had been better, he told himself one morning as he parked his Lada in the empty school car park. He always parked as far away from the building as possible now, so as not to cause offence. This irked him a little because he was always the first teacher to arrive. There was a definite improvement in the behaviour of all his classes. Why, only ten of his Year Seven class failed to do their homework last week. Anyway, at least he had added several words to his vocabulary.
Still, that Larry James was a bit of a handful. He wouldn’t stop making those silly cow noises. Once he started, the others joined in. Alan felt so helpless and he has always been a little gullible. Alan’s Science teacher had once made him go to Soapy Symes as ask for a long stand. Alan had been told to wait outside the Sports Hall and it was only after he had been waiting there an hour that he realised it was April 1st. He would never be that sort of mean nasty teacher, he thought, as he strode nervously into his classroom, balancing his sandwiches on top of sixty exercise books. Give the children respect…
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at Larry James. All sixty books, and his sandwiches, crashed to the floor.
The boy looked up from the teacher’s desk, Alan’s wallet in hand.
"Nothing, sir!"
"It doesn’t look like nothing to me. THAT’S MY WALLET!! GIVE IT TO ME!!"
Larry James threw the wallet on the floor and ran out of the classroom.
"Moooooo! Moooooooooooooo!" echoed down the corridor.
Alan picked up his wallet. He hadn’t even realised that he’d left it at school. He had had so many books to carry home last night that he had forgotten to take his briefcase with him. He checked the contents. The two five pound notes were still there. Even so, another minute and the boy would have taken them.
Alan stood in the middle of his classroom and frowned. He had shouted at a child. He had vowed that he would never do that. Show them respect and they will respect you back. Huh! Fat lot of good it was doing him. It may well be that this ideal only applied to certain kids. Maybe Larry James was beyond hope. Maybe…maybe Alan just couldn’t relate to kids like Larry James.
"Mr. Kowper. Good morning."
"Oh! Good morning Mr. Brand."
Alan went red.
"Everything all right, Mr. Kowper? Did I just see Larry James running down the corridor?"
"Yes! I mean no! I mean, er, I’m not sure."
As Mr. Brand waited, Alan felt hundreds of emotions run through him, all at once. Should he tell? Should he tell Mr. Brand what had happened? This was silly; Alan was a teacher now. He wasn’t a schoolboy telling tales on another kid. Colleagues should work together. Mr. Brand would be helpful. He would sort things out. He would understand.
That was the problem. Mr. Brand wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t even try to understand. Teachers like Mr. Brand never tried to understand. They had one simple solution to every problem: punishment. Is this what Alan wanted? Had he become a teacher to help children, or to punish children? If he told Mr. Brand what had happened, he’d be just like the rest of them: ‘Soapy" Symes, ‘Marlon" Brand, ‘Mooooo’ Cowper. Might as well be an accountant.
"Yes, Mr. Brand, it was Larry James. He was asking me about some extra homework. I don’t know if he was running or not."
"Extra homework!" Mr. Brand smiled as he marched out. "I’m sure it’s none of my business, Mr. Kowper."
Alan could not believe it. Larry James was crying.
"Please don’t tell on me, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I know I was wrong, sir, but I had to have to the money, sir. I’m sorry! It’s my…it’s my…oh! You wouldn’t understand. Nobody understands me."
Large tears were running down Larry’s cheeks.
Alan kept quiet. He didn’t really know what to say. He thought he should say something.
"I don’t know what to say, Larry. You say that nobody understands you. Try talking to me. I will listen. I might understand you."
"You wouldn’t understand."
Alan kept quiet.
A long silent minute went by. The clock in Alan’s classroom ticked noisily. Shouting and laughter echoed from the playground. It was the mid morning break and Alan had asked Larry to wait behind at the end of the lesson.
Eventually, Larry broke the silence.
"Do you want to see a photo of my sister, Joanne? She’s disabled."
Larry showed him a crumpled photograph of a sweet looking girl, looking up from her wheelchair and smiling at the camera.
"Took that photo myself. Carry it with me everywhere."
Larry covered his face with his hands.
"Go on," said Alan quietly.
"I love her. I can’t stand to see anyone shout at her. My Dad… My Dad…."
"Your Dad?"
"He’s a policeman. He’s strict. I can’t talk to him. He shouts at me. Says I’m a piece of rubbish. If he shouts at Joanne, she’ll go crazy. I can’t stand it. I CAN’T STAND IT!!!"
Larry was standing up, shouting.
"Larry, calm down. I’m listening. Go on. What happened?" Alan was almost whispering.
Larry sat down and looked intently at Alan. He nodded his head.
"It’s Joanne. She did something silly. She doesn’t know any better. She’s only six. She doesn’t understand."
"What did she do?"
"She took some money from my Mum. Twenty pounds. It was in her purse. She was bullied at school. We’ve got loads of money at home. My Mum wouldn’t mind. But my Dad…..he’d go beserk. These kids…they said that if Joanne didn’t give them twenty pounds, they’d make sure both legs didn’t work. So she took the money. She was scared. So I thought…"
"You wanted to put the money back in your Mum’s purse."
"Yes. I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!! Please don’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell my Dad. Don’t tell Brand. He’ll tell my Dad. Please sir. Please."
Larry broke into hysterical sobbing.
Alan shyly put his hand around Larry’s shoulder.
"Don’t worry. Calm down. Listen. I’ve got an idea."
"No! I don’t believe it. I simply do not believe it! Not again!" Alan slammed his sandwiches down on the table.
"But sir, I’m..."
"I can see what you’re doing Larry. I have eyes you know."
Alan could feel the adrenaline welling up in his stomach and he knew that he was going to get angry, despite himself.
"I thought, after last night, that things might have changed."
"They have, sir, they have. You’ve got it all wrong. I..."
"I thought you might appreciate what I did for you."
"I did, sir. That’s why..."
"That’s why I find you in my room again; going through my briefcase."
"I’m not, sir. I only..."
"You know, Larry, I spent a long time on the phone last night talking to your father."
"I know, sir. You see..."
"He was angry at first. Angry with me for interfering. Then he was angry with you for telling me about his family. He said he could sort things out for himself. I explained about your sister and the bullying and the money."
Alan was agitated now and he was waving his arms around. Larry sat down and looked up at him.
"Yes sir. I know."
"Your Dad is a very sensible man. He loves you a lot, you know."
Larry didn’t respond.
"Oh yes, he does," Alan continued. "He was a very worried man. He knew something was wrong. He knew your sister had taken money. He just didn’t know why."
Larry’s jaw dropped.
"He knew Joanne had taken money, sir?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh yes. He knew. When I finished talking to him he was very grateful. He explained that he finds it difficult talking to you. I told him how much you cared and how worried you were. He knows how much you love your sister. Did he talk to you after I phoned?"
"Yes sir."
"Was he all right to you? Did he shout at you? Did he kill you?"
"Yes sir. I mean no sir. I mean it was great sir. I’ve never talked to my Dad for so long. We’re going fishing at the weekend. Never done that before sir. Not with my Dad."
"So your way of thanking me is to steal something else from my briefcase. What do you want? My calculator? My pen? My markbook? Take it all. Take everything. You know, I give up. I really do give up with kids like you. I do what I can to help. I don’t yell at you. I listen to you. I’M ON YOUR SIDE. And your way of saying thank you is to steal from me. Well that’s it, I’m leaving. I quit. I’m going home!"
Alan knew he was being foolish, but he was genuinely angry. He barged out of the classroom.
"Mr. Kowper?"
"Mr. Brand."
Alan stormed past the Deputy Head.
"Mr. Kowper. Where are you going?"
"I’m sorry, Mr Brand. It’s Larry James. Here he is."
Larry had followed Alan out of the classroom.
"Do you know what this boy has done Mr. Brand?"
The older man shook his head.
"He’s only gone and..."
"Bought you a present sir."
"What?"
"What?"
"I’ve bought you a present. I’ve bought you a lunchbox."
Larry had a new lunchbox in his hand.
"I was just putting it in your briefcase when you came in, sir. Along with this card."
Larry handed Alan a card in a bright yellow envelope.
"You’ve been really good to me, sir. You’ve listened to me when other teachers would have punished me. You’ve sorted out a big problem for me. You’re the best teacher in the school, sir."
Mr. Brand stared at Larry and Alan in turn. Alan went red. He felt ashamed. He had nearly lost his faith.
"I think you’ll find things a bit easier from now on, sir."
"Oh, sorry," mumbled Alan, turning red. "I'll park somewhere else then."
" I would be most grateful. I have parked in this spot for the last sixteen years you know. I'm Mrs Keithwaite, the Headmaster's secretary".
"I'm Alan....er.....Mr Kowper. Pleased to meet you."
Alan held out his hand, but Mrs Keithwaite had wound her window up and was impatiently tapping her hand on the steering wheel of her BMW.
As Alan tried to start his Lada, he asked himself why he hadn't taken Christine's advice and trained to be an accountant. Christine never understood when he talked about wanting to do some good with his life. He had been married to Christine for over a year now and although they loved each other very much, they had very different philosophies.
"Why do a badly paid job like teaching, Alan? You could earn twice as much as an accountant with your first class degree in Mathematics. Take what you can, I always say. Who's ever done you any favours?"
"Yes, but that's why I want to teach, Christine. I want to help young people and maths is such an easy subject. If it's explained properly, anyone can do it."
Christine had looked doubtful, but Alan had known that he was right. Still, it didn't make his first day any easier.
"Excuse me," he said to a bright eyed child who was smartly turned out in full school uniform. "Can you tell me where the staff room is please?"
"Oh yes, sir. No problem, sir. Straight down this corridor, sir. Up two flights of stairs, sir and it's the second door on the right. It's got 'Private' on the door, sir."
"Thank you very much. What's your name, young man?"
"Paul Orkey, sir."
"Thank you, Paul Orkey."
As Alan set off down a seemingly endless corridor, he felt fulfilled. That was the type of child he wanted to help to understand the finer points of trigonometry. He knew he was going to be successful. He thought of all the teachers he had had at school when he was young. Shouting and losing their tempers. Tired and irritable. He would never...
"What the hell do you want?"
"Oh, sorry" mumbled Alan, turning red again. "Is this the staffroom?"
"No it flaming well isn't! This is my office. Bert Maynard. Caretaker."
"Mr. Kowper. Pleased to..."
The door slammed in his face. Alan was sure he had followed Paul Orkey's instructions carefully. Paul Orkey. Funny name. P. Orkey. Oh dear! Porky. Porky pies. Lies. He had been well and truly suckered this time.
"Good morning. My name is Mr. Kowper and..."
"Kowper!"
"Cowpat!"
"Mooooooo!"
"Mooooooooooooooo!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha"
Alan went red.
"Yes. My name is Mr. Kowper and I know that we are going to get on very well this year because...do you mind not making that noise. What is your name?"
Too late, Alan recognised the face and knew what the answer would be."
"Orkey, sir. Paul Orkey!"
"Porky! Porky!"
A chorus of grunts echoed around the class.
"Yes, very funny. I said that I know that you can do very well this year if...what are you doing? Sit down! Sit down!"
The bright eyed boy was crawling around the room on all fours making piggy noises, backed up by a chorus of farmyard sounds.
"Be quiet please. Be quiet please. I don’t think..."
"BE QUIET!"
Suddenly there was silence. Everyone looked towards the door as a large red faced man, wearing a shabby grey jacket, glared thunderously around the room. When he saw Alan, he looked surprised.
"Sorry," he boomed. "I didn’t realise there was a teacher in here."
"O.K." said Alan. "I am here. I’m Mr. Kowper."
This time there was a deafening absence of cow noises. The silence was deafening.
"My name is Mr. Brand. Deputy Head in charge of discipline. If any of these swine give you any problems at all, Mr. Kowper, just send them to me. Especially Larry James there. GET UP OFF THE FLOOR JAMES!"
The former Paul Orkey, his name changed by the sheer overwhelming presence of the Deputy Head, meekly sat down and got his pencil case out.
"The thing is, Brand’s methods worked. I didn’t have any trouble from them for the rest of the lesson."
Alan had just finished his beanburger and salad. Christine was spoiling him tonight and was taking the baked apples from the oven.
"It’s just something you’re going to have to learn, dear," she told him as she put the bowls on the table. "He’s an experienced teacher. He knows what he’s doing."
"Sweetheart, I don’t want to be that sort of teacher. I remember old Soapy Symes when I was at school. We were all scared of him. What was that phrase of his? ‘Take notes and take note.’ What did that mean anyway? We were well behaved all right, but I will always hate anything to do with History. No! the way to get children to love your subject is to treat them with respect."
"Yes, but do they treat you with respect, Alan?"
"As adults, we have to show them an example. It will just take a bit of time, that’s all."
"If you say so. You always know best."
Christine could be very sarcastic at times.
The next few weeks had been better, he told himself one morning as he parked his Lada in the empty school car park. He always parked as far away from the building as possible now, so as not to cause offence. This irked him a little because he was always the first teacher to arrive. There was a definite improvement in the behaviour of all his classes. Why, only ten of his Year Seven class failed to do their homework last week. Anyway, at least he had added several words to his vocabulary.
Still, that Larry James was a bit of a handful. He wouldn’t stop making those silly cow noises. Once he started, the others joined in. Alan felt so helpless and he has always been a little gullible. Alan’s Science teacher had once made him go to Soapy Symes as ask for a long stand. Alan had been told to wait outside the Sports Hall and it was only after he had been waiting there an hour that he realised it was April 1st. He would never be that sort of mean nasty teacher, he thought, as he strode nervously into his classroom, balancing his sandwiches on top of sixty exercise books. Give the children respect…
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at Larry James. All sixty books, and his sandwiches, crashed to the floor.
The boy looked up from the teacher’s desk, Alan’s wallet in hand.
"Nothing, sir!"
"It doesn’t look like nothing to me. THAT’S MY WALLET!! GIVE IT TO ME!!"
Larry James threw the wallet on the floor and ran out of the classroom.
"Moooooo! Moooooooooooooo!" echoed down the corridor.
Alan picked up his wallet. He hadn’t even realised that he’d left it at school. He had had so many books to carry home last night that he had forgotten to take his briefcase with him. He checked the contents. The two five pound notes were still there. Even so, another minute and the boy would have taken them.
Alan stood in the middle of his classroom and frowned. He had shouted at a child. He had vowed that he would never do that. Show them respect and they will respect you back. Huh! Fat lot of good it was doing him. It may well be that this ideal only applied to certain kids. Maybe Larry James was beyond hope. Maybe…maybe Alan just couldn’t relate to kids like Larry James.
"Mr. Kowper. Good morning."
"Oh! Good morning Mr. Brand."
Alan went red.
"Everything all right, Mr. Kowper? Did I just see Larry James running down the corridor?"
"Yes! I mean no! I mean, er, I’m not sure."
As Mr. Brand waited, Alan felt hundreds of emotions run through him, all at once. Should he tell? Should he tell Mr. Brand what had happened? This was silly; Alan was a teacher now. He wasn’t a schoolboy telling tales on another kid. Colleagues should work together. Mr. Brand would be helpful. He would sort things out. He would understand.
That was the problem. Mr. Brand wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t even try to understand. Teachers like Mr. Brand never tried to understand. They had one simple solution to every problem: punishment. Is this what Alan wanted? Had he become a teacher to help children, or to punish children? If he told Mr. Brand what had happened, he’d be just like the rest of them: ‘Soapy" Symes, ‘Marlon" Brand, ‘Mooooo’ Cowper. Might as well be an accountant.
"Yes, Mr. Brand, it was Larry James. He was asking me about some extra homework. I don’t know if he was running or not."
"Extra homework!" Mr. Brand smiled as he marched out. "I’m sure it’s none of my business, Mr. Kowper."
Alan could not believe it. Larry James was crying.
"Please don’t tell on me, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I know I was wrong, sir, but I had to have to the money, sir. I’m sorry! It’s my…it’s my…oh! You wouldn’t understand. Nobody understands me."
Large tears were running down Larry’s cheeks.
Alan kept quiet. He didn’t really know what to say. He thought he should say something.
"I don’t know what to say, Larry. You say that nobody understands you. Try talking to me. I will listen. I might understand you."
"You wouldn’t understand."
Alan kept quiet.
A long silent minute went by. The clock in Alan’s classroom ticked noisily. Shouting and laughter echoed from the playground. It was the mid morning break and Alan had asked Larry to wait behind at the end of the lesson.
Eventually, Larry broke the silence.
"Do you want to see a photo of my sister, Joanne? She’s disabled."
Larry showed him a crumpled photograph of a sweet looking girl, looking up from her wheelchair and smiling at the camera.
"Took that photo myself. Carry it with me everywhere."
Larry covered his face with his hands.
"Go on," said Alan quietly.
"I love her. I can’t stand to see anyone shout at her. My Dad… My Dad…."
"Your Dad?"
"He’s a policeman. He’s strict. I can’t talk to him. He shouts at me. Says I’m a piece of rubbish. If he shouts at Joanne, she’ll go crazy. I can’t stand it. I CAN’T STAND IT!!!"
Larry was standing up, shouting.
"Larry, calm down. I’m listening. Go on. What happened?" Alan was almost whispering.
Larry sat down and looked intently at Alan. He nodded his head.
"It’s Joanne. She did something silly. She doesn’t know any better. She’s only six. She doesn’t understand."
"What did she do?"
"She took some money from my Mum. Twenty pounds. It was in her purse. She was bullied at school. We’ve got loads of money at home. My Mum wouldn’t mind. But my Dad…..he’d go beserk. These kids…they said that if Joanne didn’t give them twenty pounds, they’d make sure both legs didn’t work. So she took the money. She was scared. So I thought…"
"You wanted to put the money back in your Mum’s purse."
"Yes. I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!! Please don’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell my Dad. Don’t tell Brand. He’ll tell my Dad. Please sir. Please."
Larry broke into hysterical sobbing.
Alan shyly put his hand around Larry’s shoulder.
"Don’t worry. Calm down. Listen. I’ve got an idea."
"No! I don’t believe it. I simply do not believe it! Not again!" Alan slammed his sandwiches down on the table.
"But sir, I’m..."
"I can see what you’re doing Larry. I have eyes you know."
Alan could feel the adrenaline welling up in his stomach and he knew that he was going to get angry, despite himself.
"I thought, after last night, that things might have changed."
"They have, sir, they have. You’ve got it all wrong. I..."
"I thought you might appreciate what I did for you."
"I did, sir. That’s why..."
"That’s why I find you in my room again; going through my briefcase."
"I’m not, sir. I only..."
"You know, Larry, I spent a long time on the phone last night talking to your father."
"I know, sir. You see..."
"He was angry at first. Angry with me for interfering. Then he was angry with you for telling me about his family. He said he could sort things out for himself. I explained about your sister and the bullying and the money."
Alan was agitated now and he was waving his arms around. Larry sat down and looked up at him.
"Yes sir. I know."
"Your Dad is a very sensible man. He loves you a lot, you know."
Larry didn’t respond.
"Oh yes, he does," Alan continued. "He was a very worried man. He knew something was wrong. He knew your sister had taken money. He just didn’t know why."
Larry’s jaw dropped.
"He knew Joanne had taken money, sir?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh yes. He knew. When I finished talking to him he was very grateful. He explained that he finds it difficult talking to you. I told him how much you cared and how worried you were. He knows how much you love your sister. Did he talk to you after I phoned?"
"Yes sir."
"Was he all right to you? Did he shout at you? Did he kill you?"
"Yes sir. I mean no sir. I mean it was great sir. I’ve never talked to my Dad for so long. We’re going fishing at the weekend. Never done that before sir. Not with my Dad."
"So your way of thanking me is to steal something else from my briefcase. What do you want? My calculator? My pen? My markbook? Take it all. Take everything. You know, I give up. I really do give up with kids like you. I do what I can to help. I don’t yell at you. I listen to you. I’M ON YOUR SIDE. And your way of saying thank you is to steal from me. Well that’s it, I’m leaving. I quit. I’m going home!"
Alan knew he was being foolish, but he was genuinely angry. He barged out of the classroom.
"Mr. Kowper?"
"Mr. Brand."
Alan stormed past the Deputy Head.
"Mr. Kowper. Where are you going?"
"I’m sorry, Mr Brand. It’s Larry James. Here he is."
Larry had followed Alan out of the classroom.
"Do you know what this boy has done Mr. Brand?"
The older man shook his head.
"He’s only gone and..."
"Bought you a present sir."
"What?"
"What?"
"I’ve bought you a present. I’ve bought you a lunchbox."
Larry had a new lunchbox in his hand.
"I was just putting it in your briefcase when you came in, sir. Along with this card."
Larry handed Alan a card in a bright yellow envelope.
"You’ve been really good to me, sir. You’ve listened to me when other teachers would have punished me. You’ve sorted out a big problem for me. You’re the best teacher in the school, sir."
Mr. Brand stared at Larry and Alan in turn. Alan went red. He felt ashamed. He had nearly lost his faith.
"I think you’ll find things a bit easier from now on, sir."
